I met someone new today. Well, met would be putting it kindly. I was visiting the lake when something very heavy smashed into me from above, knocking me out. It was an Inkling, wearing a military uniform and wielding a weapon. He had to have been the worst assassin I’ve ever seen.

I held my knife to his throat, and when he woke up I interrogated him. If he was this incompetent he might as well be useful. But even with my threats, he didn’t act like I thought he would. He didn’t even seem to know the language of the country he was in. Idiot. He’s lucky I know Inklish.

He apologized for landing on me, saying that he didn’t mean to, he just tripped. Likely story. And then he noticed the cut on head, completely disregarding the knife pressing against his throat as he reached up to touch it.

I didn’t mean to but… I flinched, pulling the knife away. He took advantage of my slip up immediately, pushing my arm away so he could sit up. He then undid the knot of the bandana he was wearing and used it to wipe away the blood that had been running down my face.

I don’t know what was wrong with me but I… I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. His hand was on my chin and his face was so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes were golden.

I didn’t go back to normal until he was long gone, grabbing a bag and sketchbook off the ground that I had neglected to notice. He shouted something as he left, but I don’t remember what it was.

Maybe if we meet again, I can ask him.

Addendum: It was his name. Cuttlefish.

I saw him again. Cuttlefish.

He was in the palace, part of the Inkadian delegation that was visiting. He fell off a banister, the railing breaking behind him when he leaned on it. I caught him without thinking, and he smiled at me.

And then he flirted with me.

It caught me off guard, and I laughed before I could catch myself. I don’t think my retinue noticed though, they were too busy glaring at the Inkling. He didn’t seem to care. I asked him what he was doing here, and he said he had gotten lost trying to find the throne room. He asked if I knew where it was.

I almost laughed again. He truly, genuinely, didn’t know who I was. He’s so stupid, it’s quite entertaining.

I brought him to the throne room. Someone from his delegation quickly retrieved him as soon as we got close, a short horseshoe crab with a frankly ridiculous pair of glasses on.

I didn’t pay attention to much of the formalities, I’m only there for appearances after all, so I feigned disinterest as I watched the Inkling closely. It was so hard to keep a straight face when the realization dawned on him. I didn’t see him afterwards, but that was probably a good thing.

I’m going to keep an eye on him. He may not be dangerous now, but it’s good to be prepared. Plus, I find his stupidity amusing.

I saw him.

I saw him, there, at the lake.

My lake. The one place I can ever truly relax in.

He was there and he wasn’t leaving. He was drawing, writing something down in that sketchbook of his. I don’t know. I don’t care. That place is compromised now. I can’t go back.

I went back.

He was there again. Sitting, waiting.

Maybe he’ll be gone tomorrow.

He wasn’t.

I tried my best to stay away, I really did, but the stress has been getting to me.

I went earlier than normal, hoping to calm my mind before he showed up. And it almost worked! I just… hadn’t accounted on falling asleep.

I woke up with a start when he poked me in the face, lashing out with my knife. He dodged it by a stoke of luck, backing away and holding up his hands placatingly.

Well, hand. The other was still holding on to his weapon. Cane. Weapon-cane? I’m not sure. It’s a Bamboozler, but he uses it as a cane. That can’t be good for his wrist, but what do I care.

He apologized for startling me, said he had been trying to find me, wanted to talk to me. He used my first name.

I snapped at him, told him to use my proper title or to not speak to me at all.

He apologized again, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His ears moved, flicking downwards. I didn’t know they could do that. He quickly got over it though, glaring at me pointedly.

He wanted to know why I didn’t tell him who I was when we first met, nor when we ran into each other for a second time. He said it made him look like a fool.

I told him the truth, that it was funny.

He got huffy, and his ears twitched again. That’s when I noticed the glow. It was faint, orange, brushing over his cheeks and nose, running along the rims of his ears.

I wanted to touch them.

I got up, trying to leave, but he wouldn’t let me go that easily.

He asked if I was planning on coming back there.

I lied and said no.

It didn’t seem to phase him. He asked if I would talk with him again.

I said no.

He said ‘Suit yourself sweetheart’.

My chest felt weird. I left quickly.

I went to the lake again.

He wasn’t there.

For some reason, I felt disappointed.

He was there this time, drawing again.

I stayed away from him, stayed quiet. Watched.

He was good. Is, good. It was a flower, a rose, sketched in charcoal, the dust staining his fingertips. He leaned over it, fringe falling into his face. When he brushed it out of the way, his fingers left behind dark smears.

I had to stop watching him after that.

I saw him in the palace today.

He smiled and waved at me. It made his eyes crinkle up at the corners.

I pretended to not to notice him.

Something is wrong with me.

He was at the lake again last night, just sitting there. He had his sketchbook in his lap, but he wasn’t drawing.

He looked tired.

I didn’t go into the clearing. I hid in the shadow of the crevasse entrance, waiting to see what he would do instead.

He watched the lake for a while, observing the stars in the reflection. He then sighed and reached into his bag, pulling something out that I couldn’t quite see. A moment later, there was a flash of light, the small, flickering flame of a lighter that was quickly snuffed out.

I moved a little closer, trying to get a better look.

He was smoking a cigar, letting the fumes linger before exhaling slowly. I watched as it spilled out of his mouth, swirling around his face lazily. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he took another hit, lips curling around the object.

They looked soft.

He stopped after a while, snuffing out the flame and putting it away.

I left before he could notice me.

I dreamt of him.

His hands were warm. Rough.

He tasted like smoke.

I have to kill him.

I have to kill him!

I don’t know what mind games he’s playing, but I can’t get him out of my head! He’s haunting my thoughts, my dreams, with his stupid face!

I hate him. I hate his scruffy beard and his hick accent. I hate the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, showing off those sharp, pointed fangs and that small crack in his beak. I hate the way his hands are always so messy, covered in chalk or paint or charcoal or whatever. I hate how his ears twitch and the way that he glows. I hate his dumb hat. I hate his tight shirt. I hate his hair. I hate his face. I hate how small he looks. I hate how soft he looks.

I hate him.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him! That must be it! That has to be why my face gets warm whenever I see him, what that weird pain in my chest is. It’s hate, I know it. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about him. I despise him.

I’ll be generous though, I’ll give him one chance. I’ll write him a letter telling him to get out of this country, or else I’ll kill him.

Then, the lake will be mine again, and so will my thoughts.

He’s still here.

He snuck up on me at the lake and brought the letter, told me he couldn’t read it.

Of course he couldn’t read it, you fucking idiot! You wrote it in Octarian! He doesn’t know how to speak it, so why the shell did you think he would be able to read it!

He asked me if I could tell him what it said, since I wrote it.

I could have told him then and there. Could have slit his throat, strangled him and tossed him into the lake to dissolve. No one would be any wiser. But I couldn’t.

He was smiling.

I lied, said it was just calligraphy practice, that it must’ve gotten mixed up with my other correspondences.

He bought it, gave the letter back, said I should go home and get some rest, I looked tired.

I was tired.

I am, tired.

I should go to bed.

I can’t sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see him, and I don’t know what to do.

I want it to stop.

I fucked up.

IfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedupIfuckedup.

I slipped up. I talked. I didn’t mean to. There was a zapfish. Cuttlefish got spooked. I shushed him.

He asked me about them.

I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have kept my mouth shut. But I didn’t. I got excited. I couldn’t help it.

I talked for so long, and he didn’t stop me. He listened and asked questions like— like— like he was actually interested, interested in what I had to say.

Like I was worth listening to.

He asked if I would tell him more the next time we saw each other.

…I’d like that.

I went back, against my better judgment.

He looked surprised to see me, but then he smiled so brightly, it almost hurt to look at.

I kept my distance.

He didn’t seem to mind, chattering incessantly even though I wasn’t responding.

His voice is nice.

He was quiet this time, drawing.

He sticks his tongue out when he’s focused.

That glow isn’t just on his face.

It goes down the back of his neck too.

He took off his hat for a moment.

His hair looked soft.

He asked me what my favourite color was.

I wasn’t prepared for it. I tried to deflect, but he kept pressing.

I said I was fond of orange, just to get him to drop it.

He smiled and added it to his drawing.

It made my chest feel weird.

He finished his drawing and showed it to me.

It was the lake at sunset, a few zapfish loitering at the shore while I watched them from a distance. He asked if I liked it, said he tried his best to capture my likeness. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed nervous.

I told him the truth, that he was an excellent artist.

He laughed and said I didn’t have to act so formal, that I could just call him ‘Craig’.

He smiled when I did, and I found myself smiling back.

I haven’t been able to focus at all today. I’ve been too excited for tomorrow. Too excited to see him again. Craig.

Craig.

Craig Cuttlefish. It’s a nice name. Strong. Great alliteration. It’s distracting.

He’s, distracting.

…I’ve fallen behind on my studies. Fiscal reports and subterfuge detection seem dull now. If I remain like this for much longer, my tutors will notice.

There must be something I can do to fix this.

I’ve found a solution.

Pain.

Something small, innocuous. Like a paper cut. Just enough to grab my attention, but not enough to cause outward discomfort. I tend to keep my hands in my sleeves as is, so whenever I start thinking about him too much, I can just press my claws into my arms and draw myself back to the present.

Easy.

This is harder than I thought. My arms ache. It’s hard to sleep. And still, I think of him constantly.

He brought an instrument this time, called a ‘guitar’. It was quite different from a shamisen. The body was thicker, the neck, shorter. It had more strings, and it produced a deeper sound.

And then he started singing.

It was slow, quiet, a little breathy, like he was trying to remember the parts as he played. It captivated me.

I can still hear it.

Ya Weni Marei Mirekyara Hire Juri Yu Mirekerason…

I’m getting complacent.

We sat next to each other this time. Craig was showing me some chords, strumming slowly, gently.

It was soothing. Too soothing. I fell asleep.

I could have stayed there for hours, leaning against his warm shoulder. But I didn’t. He made sure of that.

He gently shook me awake after a while, telling me to head home before it got too late.

I didn’t want to leave.

He offered me his guitar today, offered to teach me how to play it. I tried to turn him down, but he was already guiding my hands to the right positions.

His were softer than I imagined.

My sleeve fell down a bit when I moved to hold the neck, causing him to pause. He grabbed my arm and pushed it the rest of the way down, exposing the scratches. He asked me what happened, looking worried as his ears flicked down.

I told him I dropped one of my hair cuffs into a patch of brambles.

He seemed upset, telling me to be more careful and to wash them when I got home.

I can’t let him find out the truth. I don't like it when he frowns.

The weather is getting colder. The only reason I’m still going to the lake is to see him.

He says I’m learning much quicker than he anticipated, that I’m a natural. I’m used to people paying me fake compliments, but it feels real when he says it.

I asked him what the name of the song was.

He said it didn’t really have a name, that it was a folk song from his hometown. He said they called it the Chorus of Calamari County.

I like it.

I started a new round of inoculations today. Arsenic.

The first dose is always hard, but I couldn’t skip out on our meet up. It took me longer to get there than usual. It was difficult to breathe, and my hands and feet felt numb.

They still feel numb, writing this.

Craig was waiting for me, as always, but his smile fell when he saw me. He asked if I was okay, said I looked sick.

I told him it was just a minor cold.

He looked a little skeptical, but he dropped it and started the lesson.

I finally felt well enough to make the trek to the lake today. Even though I made sure to wear more layers than usual, I was still freezing by the time I arrived.

Craig wasn’t smiling when I sat down next to him. His hands were in his lap, and he was staring at nothing.

He was so warm.

I don’t know what happened. One moment, I was sitting beside him, waiting for the lesson to start. The next, I was on the ground, my head in his lap as his hands cradled my face.

He looked upset.

I tried to apologize, but he put a hand over my mouth, silencing me. It should have alarmed me, but for some reason, I felt calm.

He told me that I had to stop, that I had to go home and rest until I was better.

I tried to tell him that I was better, but he didn’t believe me.

He said— He said, ‘Octavio. I like you, you’re my friend. I can't just sit here and watch you hurt yourself. Stay home. Rest. We can pick this up later'.

Friend.

What a funny word.

He helped me sit up, helped me stand, walked me all the way back to the palace.

He put a hand to my forehead. It made my skin burn.

He made me promise to stay inside, to stay warm.

I couldn’t say no.

I’ve been chronicling my days less and less, now that I can’t see him. There’s no point. It’s all the same.

Attend lessons. Stand in the background during meetings. Mingle pointlessly with vapid nobles. Obey the whims of the Empress.

I’m tired of it. I’m tired of being treated like an object, like I’m just some pawn to be used.

It isn’t like that with Craig. When I’m with him, he actually sees me, treats me like a person.

It’s nice.

…I miss him.

The weather is getting warmer. It’s still chilly, but less than it has been. The snow is melting.

I snuck out earlier than I ever have before. I couldn’t help it. It’s Sunday.

I got to the lake first. It was hard to contain my nerves. I hadn’t seen him in months, hadn’t shown up to our meetings in months, I wasn’t sure if he would even come.

I almost worked myself into a panic as I paced. I couldn’t get my tentacles to stop twining, and I could barely hear anything over the pounding of my hearts.

I heard him cry out though. He yelled ‘Tavi!’, and then ran up to me, wrapping his arms around me and pressing our bodies together.

The top of his head barely reached my shoulders.

I asked him what he was doing, and he froze.

He started to pull away, apologizing, but I stopped him. I told him I didn’t dislike it, I just… didn’t know what it was.

He seemed surprised, said it was a hug. His smile fell a bit when I didn’t react to the name.

He asked if I’d never been hugged before.

I told him very few people were allowed to touch me.

He asked if he was one of them.

I said yes.

He smiled and hugged me tighter.

He touches me more often now, stands closer.

Our shoulders brush as he guides me through the notes, gently correcting my finger positioning.

His hands are so small.

We got into an argument today.

I was practicing as usual, but after only a few minutes he made me stop. I hadn’t flubbed any notes, so I was confused at first, but then he grabbed my left hand and my hearts sank. I had forgotten to cover up the bruises before I left the palace that night.

His hands were gentle, brushing across the deep purple marks so softly I could scarcely feel it. His voice trembled when he asked me who did it.

It felt like there was ice in my veins. I tried to brush him off, told him it was no one, but he wouldn’t believe me. He kept poking and prodding, trying to get me to admit the truth, but I didn’t want to say it. I don’t want him to see my flaws.

I yanked my arm away and snapped at him to stop poking his nose into other people’s business. He tried to defend himself, said he was worried about me, but I wouldn’t listen. I told him that I never asked him to worry about me, that I never asked him to be here in the first place, bothering me incessantly with his idiotic questions. I asked if all Inklings were as stupid as him.

He pulled away. His expression was blank.

He asked if that’s what I truly thought of him.

I didn’t know how to respond.

He took his guitar and left. He didn’t look back.

He didn’t come today.

I feel awful.

I ruined it. I ruined everything. I pushed him away and now he hates me.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.

I should just stay inside tomorrow. I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

He won’t be there.

I went. He wasn’t there.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe I thought he would be there, waiting for me. Maybe I thought he would forgive me.

Maybe I thought I would forgive myself.

I sat down at our usual spot and pulled my knees up to my chest, burying my face in them. I tried to hold it back, but it was hard. My chest hurt. My eyes burned. I couldn’t breathe.

That’s how he found me, sobbing pathetically as I mumbled to myself. I didn’t hear him when he walked over, nor when he sat down next me, but I felt it when he touched my face, lifting my head as he brushed the tears from my cheeks. I must have looked like a mess, my mascara was running and my foundation was absolutely ruined, exposing the dark circles under my eyes. I felt naked, bare under his soft gaze.

It hurt so much more when he asked me what was wrong.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. I crumbled, clutching his shirt and bowing my head, begging for his forgiveness.

He pulled me into a ‘hug’, cupping the back of my head and pressing it into his chest, holding me close.

He was so soft.

He told me that it was okay, that it hurt, but he would get over it. He moved his arms then, rubbing them up and down my back, gently stroking my hair. It felt nice. He was nice.

It was too much.

I couldn’t stop crying, burying my face into his chest as I desperately tried to muffle the sobs. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t okay, that I messed up, that I deserved his wrath, but I couldn’t get the words out past the tears. He didn’t seem to mind, even though I was frankly incoherent. He just kept patting my head, waiting for me to pull myself together.

It took a lot longer than I care to admit to calm down.

When I finally pulled away, I was mortified to discover that my makeup had come off on his shirt, smearing it in stains. I tried to cover my face and apologize, but he grabbed my hands and lowered them, gently wiping away what was left with his bandana as he dried my cheeks.

He said that it was okay, that he didn’t care.

His hands were still on my face, thumbs tracing the dark bags under my eyes.

He asked if I was okay.

I wanted to say no. No, I’m not okay. But I couldn’t. My throat had closed up. My mouth wouldn’t move. I was stuck. Frozen.

Scared.

His expression fell, his ears drooping. With a sad sigh, he said ‘Look, I— I know it’s not easy for you to trust people. You’re the Prince, you’re really important. I’m just some random Inkling peasant from a different country, so I’d understand if you wanted me to leave—‘

I cut him off by grabbing his wrist, keeping his hand from pulling away.

He seemed surprised, asked if I wanted him to stay.

I nodded.

He hummed as he thought, gently rubbing circles into my cheeks.

It made my hearts beat faster.

He said ‘Okay, well… How about this. If you can’t tell me about something big, like the bruises, then tell me about something small instead. Something little. Just… One thing that’s been bothering you. That’s all I’m asking. You’ll feel better once you get it off your chest, I promise.’

That was easier said than done. There’s so much bothering me. So much that I’m powerless to change, powerless to stop. What would be the point in saying it if there was nothing that could done?

I settled for telling him that I got cold easily.

He smiled and said he could fix that, pulling be back into a hug. He said that he ‘ran pretty hot’, so whenever I got too cold, we could just share his warmth.

I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around him loosely.

He was warm.

I must have fallen asleep like that, hanging off of his shoulder, because the next thing I knew, I was back at my rooms in the palace, wrapped up under blankets while in swim form.

I don’t know how he got me into the palace, nor how he got out without being detected, but I suppose it doesn’t matter for now.

I’ll ask him how he did it next time.

Our meet up went differently this time.

Craig brought some alcohol, an Inkadian whiskey. Different from what I’m used to, but still good. We drank until we were buzzed, getting closer and closer together as the night wore on.

When he kissed me, he tasted like whiskey and smoke. It was a little clumsy, but I didn’t mind. He got more aggressive the longer we kept going, climbing into my lap so he could get closer, holding the sides of my face with his rough hands. I could barely keep up.

When I finally broke away for some air, he kept going, planting kisses all along my jaw and down my neck. I started to feel hot, and then he pressed his fangs against my throat.

It felt so good. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning, calling his name as the pressure began to build. It spurred him on, biting down harder as he grinded against me. I could feel him, and he definitely could feel me.

I didn’t know what to do. I had never… done it, before. He seemed to notice, unbuttoning his shirt and guiding my hands to his chest. His skin was soft and squishy, unmarred, unlike mine. I wanted more. To see and feel more and more. My hands drifted down to his waist, and I started unbuckling his belt without thinking. He pulled away, and for a second I thought I did something wrong, but then he undid my obi and pushed me to the ground, parting the folds of my robes.

My face must have been completely green by then. He was a bit flushed too, but that might have been from the alcohol.

He leaned down, hands trailing along my chest. He called me beautiful, said I drove him crazy, asked if we could keep going. I was all he could think about, haunting his dreams at night. He said he couldn’t take it anymore, and he pressed his hand against my crotch. It was light, just a little bit of pressure, but it was enough to make me gasp.

He said he wanted me, he wanted to be inside of me, to please me. I wanted that too, I wanted him, too. But I was nervous.

He could see it on my face, the apprehension, and he pulled away, apologizing for being too forward.

I pulled him back in.

I told him I didn’t want him to stop, I just… didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

He smiled, and I saw his fangs. I wanted him to bite me again.

'You don’t have to do anything', he whispered into my ear, 'just tell me when to stop.'

He then removed my undergarments and moved my legs up, pulling a bottle out of his bag. I couldn’t see what he did next, but I felt it when he put his fingers in my ass. It was only two, but it left me twitching.

He was slow, gentle, easing me into it. Just his fingers already felt so good, when he put his penis into me I almost came then and there. His hands were on my thighs, holding my legs aside as he started thrusting back and forth.

Everything becomes a haze of pleasure after that. He felt so good, those frills rubbing up against me, catching on sensitive spots I didn’t know existed. I remember him asking me if I liked it, but all I could do was moan. My brain was too fried to respond with anything else.

I don’t know how long he fucked me, but I was sweating by the end of it. I was already a mess when he pulled out, cum spilling on my crotch. I think I fell asleep for a minute there, because the next thing I knew everything had been cleaned up and Craig was laying his head on my chest, face down in my pecs. We cuddled for a while, but eventually I had to go.

It was a little difficult getting home. I was so sore it hurt to walk, but it was worth it. I’m still sore, writing this.

Maybe next time we can sneak into my chambers.